


(Hold me) Until I no longer am who I once was

by Finduilas



Category: Leverage
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Eliot Spencer's Cooking, First Kiss, Getting Together, Grumpy Eliot Spencer, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Alec Hardison, Requited Unrequited Love, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26579254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas/pseuds/Finduilas
Summary: When Hardison gets in real danger on a job, Eliot's reaction is not at all what Hardison would have expected.
Relationships: Alec Hardison/Eliot Spencer
Comments: 17
Kudos: 115





	(Hold me) Until I no longer am who I once was

**Author's Note:**

> I binge-watched Leverage for the first time and I fell into a deep hole of Eliot/Hardison and now I can't get out. (Nor do I want to) 
> 
> Canon divergent in the sense that in this fic there is no romantic relationship between Parker and Hardison. 
> 
> Many thanks to my Beta Gemma, who completely encouraged my growing Eliot/Hardison obsession.

There’s a rush of air that leaves Hardison’s lungs as Eliot pushes him unceremoniously against the wall, and he’s just about to protest -  _ loudly _ \- when Eliot proceeds to then press his entire body up against Hardison’s. The words get stuck in his mouth as his brain short-circuits for a second, and only reboots when he can feel Eliot’s fingers fumbling with Hardison’s belt, and his face is being pressed against Hardison’s neck. 

“Dammit, Hardison,” Eliot bites out, the tickling of his breath on Hardison’s skin in stark contrast with the harshness of his tone. 

Hardison’s hands somehow find their way to Eliot’s hips instinctively, but words still don’t make it out of his mouth. Not that Eliot’s saying anything either, he’s just busy mouthing at Hardison’s neck, teeth scraping over his jugular as his hand pulls Hardison’s belt out of the loops with one rough sweep, slapping Hardison’s arm in the process. Eliot doesn’t apologize, just pushes his hips forward with a certain amount of force, making Hardison gasp for air. 

Against all odds, Hardison’s brain comes back online enough to realize that Eliot’s behavior is most likely a direct result of Hardison almost dying earlier that morning, when their current mission went spectacularly wrong. Hardison didn’t  _ actually _ die, the bullet only barely grazed the side of his skull - a simple band-aid could fix it - but it was a close call and Hardison isn’t going to pretend it didn’t spook the hell out of him. But he had seen Eliot’s face when he realized he was too late to protect Hardison - there seems to be a first for everything - and it was utter and complete fear he saw in it; Hardison didn’t think that was an emotion he’d ever see on Eliot’s face. 

Eliot has been acting weird ever since it happened, even though Hardison is absolutely  _ fine _ . Clearly Eliot is  _ not _ though, because the second they find themselves alone, Eliot pounces on Hardison and is currently biting down on the tendons in Hardison’s neck and his hand is making its way past Hardison’s boxers. Eliot makes a noise that sounds a lot like a growl and that apparently has a direct line to Hardison’s dick, which twitches in appreciation. 

Hardison’s hands find their way to Eliot’s hair - and  _ oh _ , he has wanted to do that for  _ ages _ \- and he tries to tilt Eliot’s face a little bit so he can catch him in a kiss. ‘Cause that’s another thing Hardison has wanted to do for ages, to get a taste of Eliot’s sweet lips, to explore that gorgeous mouth with his tongue and just get lost in everything Eliot. Only… Eliot’s not letting Hardison guide his mouth to his, just pushes a little bit harder against Hardison’s body - and unless Hardison figures out how to move through walls, this is as far as he’ll go - and bites down on the collar of Hardison’s shirt before burying his face against Hardison’s collar bone. Hardison presses his lips against Eliot’s temple, but as he tries to go for an actual kiss again, Eliot clearly averts his face, and Hardison can feel his stomach drop. 

“Hey…” he says, gently nudging Eliot to create a little bit of distance between them, but Eliot seems almost frantic, trying to crawl deeper into Hardison’s skin, but never actually looking at him and actively avoiding his kiss. 

“Eliot,” Hardison tries again, trying to catch Eliot’s gaze but failing. Hardison  _ wants _ this, he does, he’s been dreaming of this moment for an embarrassingly long time and never actually thought he could have it. And it’s not like he’s opposed to things getting a little bit rough either - he should have known that was Eliot’s style - but Eliot’s behavior is starting to seem off and it’s making all kinds of alarms go off in Hardison’s head. 

Hardison ducks his head, his lips brushing against Eliot’s cheek, but then Eliot grabs a hold of Hardison’s waist and starts to maneuver him to turn around, to face the wall, and Hardison calls out, “ _ Hey! _ ” 

Eliot lets out a frustrated groan, pulling his head back and flipping his hair in the movement, aborting his move. 

“What are you…?” Hardison starts, twisting to face Eliot, not quite sure what it is he wants to ask, because ‘Why won’t you kiss me?’ or ‘Why won’t you look at me when you’re clearly willing to fuck me up against a wall?’ - albeit very valid questions in this moment - don’t seem to make it out of his mouth. 

“Fine!” Eliot bites out, pushing himself away from Hardison and quickly buttoning up his pants. Hardison blinks, not quite sure when Eliot started undressing anyway. Hardison catches the scowl on Eliot’s face before he turns away, shoulders squared, head down, strands of hair blocking his expression from Hardison’s view. 

“Come on, man,” Hardison says, embarrassingly out of breath. He tries to put his hand on Eliot’s shoulder, but he is moving away before Hardison can even reach him, heading towards the door. 

“Seriously, man?” Hardison asks, and he can’t quite hide the annoyance in his voice anymore, because clearly Eliot is going through some shit, but that doesn’t mean he has to treat Hardison quite this unfairly. 

“It’s  _ fine _ ,” Eliot all but barks out, swinging the door open and exiting in a hurry. 

The door slams shut so hard Hardison thinks it might break on its hinges. 

Hardison sighs as he leans back against the wall. “No, it’s really not.”

***

Eliot doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the job, which they manage to wrap up relatively quickly once Nate figures out a contingency plan for the contingency plan, and there are no more bullets flying at Hardison’s head, which he greatly appreciates. 

Hardison guesses that, in a way, he should be grateful to Eliot because instead of obsessing over almost getting shot in the head, he gets to obsess over what the hell happened between them afterwards. He’s looked at it from every angle and he still can’t quite figure it out. 

He’s had feelings for Eliot for a long time. Sexual attraction, for sure. One would have to be blind and deaf not to want to hit that, as far as Hardison’s concerned. But it’s not just that. There are definite feelings involved as well. Warm, fuzzy feelings that sneak up on Hardison and are impossible to let go of. Hardison gets kinda weak in the knees and hard in other places whenever he sees Eliot make one of his brilliant displays of force. He’s like a tornado, catching everything in its path, and Hardison is a willing victim. 

But then Eliot will smile, or quite simply look  _ soft _ for a second and Hardison finds himself melting. He wants to run his fingers through Eliot’s hair every chance he gets. He wants to hear Eliot talk, have him share things with him, have him confide in him. He wants to touch Eliot’s skin, caress, tease, hold. He wants to curl up on the couch and play videogames on the big screen with his feet in Eliot’s lap or his head resting on Eliot’s shoulder. He wants to kiss every pained expression off Eliot’s face and wants to fall asleep in Eliot’s arms, and yes, he wants to fuck and be fucked through the wall, but apparently not when it’s  _ only _ that for Eliot. And isn’t that just an epiphany? 

Hardison would like to curse himself for not simply going with the flow, for not taking what was offered, but he finds that he can’t. He just really wishes that Eliot would speak to him again. 

***

“Did you lose his favorite knife?” Parker asks as she slides onto the chair beside Hardison after Eliot slips off God-knows-where. 

“What?” Hardison asks, glancing over at Parker before turning his attention back to his screen where he’s currently trying to hack into the bank account of the CEO of an ostrich farm - business, not pleasure, of course. 

“Eliot,” Parker clarifies and Hardison knows that he fails at hiding a reaction at hearing the name when he can feel Sophie’s gaze suddenly on him. “He seems in a mood.” 

“How can you tell the difference?” Hardison asks, aiming for nonchalance. 

“He seems hurt,” Sophie chimes in, rounding the desk and taking a seat, her eyes never leaving Hardison. 

“Eliot doesn’t get hurt,” Parker says, like it’s a given. 

“Not that kind of hurt,” Sophie says, pensive. 

“Please, can we…?” Hardison gestures towards the keyboard in front of him, desperate to change the subject back to the new mission at hand. 

“What did you do?” Parker asks Hardison, frowning. 

“What makes you think _ I _ did anything?” Hardison asks, indignant, and he quickly shuts up when the door opens and Nate and Eliot walk through it. 

Eliot’s expression is blank, and maybe Hardison wouldn’t even notice anything was wrong if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s still not acknowledging Hardison’s existence. Or the fact that Hardison has learned to read Eliot’s moods, however unpredictable everyone thinks they are. 

“Any progress?” Nate asks, looking up at the big screens up on the wall. 

“He won’t say what he did wrong,” Parker says with an exaggerated pout. 

“ _ Woman! _ ” Hardison grits through his teeth as Nate gives him a confused look and Eliot locks his jaw. 

“What did I miss?” Nate asks, narrowing his eyes. 

“Absolutely nothing,” Hardison says quickly, his fingers flying over the keyboard, “I’m almost in. Their security is remarkably high for the work they’re supposed to do.” 

“Yeah, well…” Nate says, shrugging, and they all know the company’s a front anyway. 

“Can we get an ostrich?” Parker asks, skimming through the pamphlet on the desk in front of her. 

“No,” Eliot says, and even though there’s a finality to his voice, Parker still asks, “A little one?” 

“There are no little ones,” Eliot grumbles, “They’re not pets. Ostriches are huge and they’re aggressive as hell.” 

“You totally fought an ostrich once, didn’t you?” Hardison asks with a smile before he even realizes he does it. He curses himself immediately when Eliot’s upper lip twitches and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. He doesn’t answer. 

Hardison just shakes his head, his smile long gone, and focuses his attention back on the bank account in front of him. He doesn’t miss the glances exchanged between Nate and Sophie though. 

***

“Are you just never gonna speak to me again?” Hardison asks when he’s able to corner Eliot in the hallway outside the bathroom of the brewpub. 

“Are you just waiting here for me?” Eliot asks with a frown, trying to get past Hardison but Hardison blocks his way. Hardison knows full well that it wouldn’t take much for Eliot to simply push his way through, but no matter Eliot’s behavior these last few days, he still kind of trusts Eliot not to get violent with him. 

“I’m resorting to bathroom stalking because you kind of leave me no choice, man,” Hardison says. “What the hell is going on with you?” 

“Nothing,” Eliot says, his eyes flitting from the floor to a spot on the wall somewhere over Hardison’s shoulder. Anywhere but actually on Hardison. 

“Right, so you’d say your behavior towards me has been completely normal?” Hardison asks, the disbelief audible in his voice. 

“What are you talking about?” Eliot asks, his face scrunched up in discomfort - nothing new when Eliot is confronted with  _ feelings _ \- and as Eliot moves, Hardison steps to the other side of the hallway to block Eliot again before he passes him by. 

“I’m talking about you with your hands down my pants the other day,” Hardison says in a stage-whisper, “And then running away the second I didn’t turn around and bend over for you. That’s what I’m talking about!” 

Eliot flinches almost invisibly, eyeing alternative exits, and if it was anyone but him in front of Eliot, Hardison is pretty much he’d be punching his way out by now. 

“Just a misunderstanding,” Eliot brushes off. Hardison can tell he’s trying hard to sound casual. 

“A misun - ?” Hardison scoffs, “You accidentally drinking my Orange Soda would be a misunderstanding, Eliot - ” “I would never.” “ - but this was something else altogether.” 

“I thought you were up for it,” Eliot says with a sniff, tiling his head up but still not looking Hardison in the eye. “My bad.” 

“ _ My bad _ ?” Hardison asks, incredulous, because is this guy for real? “And it had nothing to do with the fact that I almost died?” 

There’s a definite flinch that passes over Eliot’s face this time, and his eyes become dark and unreadable for a fraction of a second before he composes himself and says, “Some people get off on that life-affirming stuff afterwards.” Eliot shrugs. “Wasn’t anything more than that.” 

Before Hardison can argue with him - like say that Eliot wasn’t the one with the near-death experience, so he shouldn’t have been the one desperate for life-affirming sex - Eliot has ducked under Hardison’s arm and made his way back to the pub, leaving Hardison standing there with a sour feeling in his gut. 

***

Hardison is pissed. He  _ should _ be pissed, at least. But he’s sitting in the back of Lucille staring at the surveillance monitors, staring at  _ Eliot _ on the surveillance monitors, and the thing he’s feeling isn’t pissed. 

Eliot’s hair is pulled back in a man-bun, he’s wearing glasses, dark jeans that hug his curves in all the right places and disappear into heavy boots, and flannel over a tight henley. He looks like a sexy lumberjack for God’s sake, and he’s smooching up to some lady that can get them the access they need; she’s clearly not immune to Eliot’s charm or looks. She’s leaning into him, brushing her hand over his biceps in the least subtle display of flirting Hardison has ever seen, but Eliot smiles seductively at her and his voice is a husky whisper in Hardison’s earbud. Hardison has to close his eyes and breathe through his nose for a second before he can focus on the task at hand again. 

The lady leans in even closer, pressing her bosom up against Eliot’s chest while doing so as she no doubt whispers something shameless into his ear - not the one with the earbud so Hardison has a hard time understanding - and Eliot chuckles appreciatively like he’s supposed to. 

“Desperate much?” Hardison mutters, giving his monitor the stink eye. 

“Problem, Hardison?” Nate’s voice rings in his earbud. 

“Whatever happened to class?” Hardison can’t help but wonder out loud and he’s pretty sure he can hear Parker snigger in the background. 

“There’s nothing wrong with some flirting, Hardison,” Sophie chimes in, and Hardison can see her on the screen, talking into her glass of champagne, “It’s fun, it’s liberating.” 

“She’s throwing herself at him,” Hardison says, the words leaving his mouth involuntarily as his brain keeps telling him to just shut up. He can see a brief flash of annoyance wash over Eliot’s face, undoubtedly because there’s chatter on the comms while he’s trying to work his mark and it’s distracting him. Probably also because Hardison isn’t his best friend these days. 

“And that’s exactly what we need right now,” Nate reminds him, in his calm and composed ‘mastermind’ voice that somehow still sounds like a reprimand to Hardison. 

Hardison clenches his jaw and turns his attention back on Eliot, who is now sliding his hands over the woman’s hips, pulling her a little bit closer. The woman smiles, moving with Eliot easily, and as one hand distracts her by inching closer to her buttcheek the other swiftly removes her badge from its clip. 

“Bingo,” Sophie says, as Parker - in a waiter’s outfit - marches past Eliot and almost unnoticeably takes the badge out of his hand. 

Several minutes later Eliot is still flirting with the woman and Hardison can’t help himself. 

“We got what we need, dude,” he says, put upon, “Cut her loose.” 

When the woman is distracted by the buzzing of her phone for a second, Eliot turns away from her slightly to whisper in his earbud, “She’s expecting some nookie, Hardison. If I just disappear on her now, she’s gonna get suspicious and she’ll have time to alert security.” 

“So, what?” Hardison asks, more harshly than intended, “You’re gonna go down on her in the bathroom just so you don’t blow your cover? You’re that desperate for it?” 

“Boys…” Sophie warns in a faux-sweet manner. 

“Dammit, Hardison,” Eliot grumbles as he turns away from the woman once more. 

“That’s enough,” Nate calls out, just before Parker says proudly, “Got it. In and out in under two minutes.” 

“Good job, Parker. Eliot, you can let her go now,” Nate instructs and Hardison leans back in his seat with an annoyed grunt, pulling out his earbud for a second. He doesn’t want to hear whatever sweet talk it is that Eliot uses to unsuspiciously extract himself from the claws of the mark. He keeps an eye on the monitor though and puts the little piece back in his ear the second Eliot is loose and making his way back to Lucille. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Hardison,” Eliot threatens with a low rumble as he stomps out the door of the building, “I’m gonna kill you and I’m gonna make it hurt.” 

“Sorry, man,” Hardison says pettily, “Didn’t want to spoil your fun.” 

“A world of pain, Hardison,” Eliot says, jaw clenched and fists balled. 

“I said,  _ that’s enough _ ,” Nate says firmly, leaving his post and also making his way back to the van. 

Parker jumps into the back about the same time as Nate makes it around to the driver’s side. 

“Sophie?” Nate asks, and then the back doors open once more and Sophie climbs in. 

“Here,” she announces, pulling her hair loose as she settles in next to Hardison. 

“Eliot?” Sophie asks, now that they’re almost complete. 

“I have half a mind to walk,” Eliot grumbles angrily, but then the passenger door next to Nate swings open and Eliot throws himself into the seat. 

Nate pulls out of the parking spot the second the door slams shut - with a lot more force than necessary - and they’re on their way. 

“Thought you wanted to walk?” Hardison says, even though he hates himself just a little bit for poking the bear again. “Some pent up energy you couldn’t get rid of with Miss Thing over there?” 

“Shut up, man,” Eliot says, infuriated, no need for keeping his voice down anymore, “Just shut the hell up.” 

“Both of you!” Nate calls out, pushing his foot down on the accelerator. “We will talk about this when we get back to the office.” 

***

Hardison has vivid flashbacks to being called into the Principal’s office when Nate sits them down in front of him and gives them a stare down. 

“Whatever it is that is going on between the two of you,” Nate starts, looking decidedly unamused, “I don’t want to see it interfere with our missions anymore.” 

“With all due respect, Nate,” Eliot says, clearly irritated, “This is none of your business.” 

“It is my business if it jeopardizes the con,” Nate says firmly. 

“The con was fine,” Hardison huffs, feeling like a child again. 

“Your comments were unnecessary and distracting,” Nate fixes Hardison with a stare. 

“I told you to shut up,” Eliot says, almost triumphantly. 

“And you let it get to you too much,” Nate turns his attention to Eliot, much to Hardison’s delight. “By the looks of it you were about two seconds away from punching someone.” 

“He was too far away to punch,” Eliot grits through his teeth. 

“Why you gotta be so aggressive, dude?” Hardison asks, turning towards Eliot. 

“Why you always gonna push my buttons, man?” Eliot counters with a disgruntled frown on his face. “I was just doing my job.” 

“Am I right in thinking you two need to have a serious talk about something?” Nate asks, starting to sound more concerned than annoyed. 

“Yes!” Hardison says at the same time as Eliot says “No!”

“You know what?” Nate says, slapping his palms on the table, “You can either talk with me here as moderator, or without me. But talk, you will.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Eliot mutters, sinking a little deeper into the couch. 

***

Hardison isn’t exactly sure how much time passes after Nate leaves, but Eliot is still sitting in the same spot on the couch, staring at the wall with a sour expression on his face. Hardison has been looking at his phone, but decides they need to bite the bullet and puts the device back in his pocket with a sigh. 

He takes a breath but before he can speak, Eliot anticipates and says, “We don’t need to talk.” 

“You’re really something,” Hardison says as he shakes his head, “Why is it so hard to just have a conversation with me? Why do you keep pushing me away?” 

“I’m not,” Eliot shrugs. 

“Look, I know you’re all Mister Emotionally Stunted and I’m sure you’ve got a lot of reason to be,” Hardison says, trying hard to keep his voice level because he doesn’t want this to end in a shouting match. “I’m sure I don’t know the half of everything you’ve done and been through. But I thought we were friends, man.” 

Eliot clenches his jaw and his eyes twitch for just a second. “We are,” he says, and if Hardison wasn’t paying attention to his lips, he’s not sure he would’ve heard him. 

“Then why are you so pissed at me?” Hardison asks and he can’t help but let the hurt slip into his voice. He’s not trying to make Eliot feel guilty, he just… wants him back. “Because as far as mixed signals go, wanting to get in my pants and treating me like crap in one and the same week is quite the statement.” 

“Look, you didn’t want to,” Eliot says, his voice softening up a little bit, “It’s fine. We can just forget about it.” 

“Except that none of what you’re saying is true,” Hardison says, exasperated, “Clearly we can’t just forget about it because then you wouldn’t be so mad at me all the time. Also, I don’t want to forget about it because it’s  _ not _ that I didn’t want to.” 

“You were pretty damn clear,” Eliot huffs and Hardison is starting to wonder if maybe Eliot is just a little bit hurt too. 

“No, I wasn’t,” Hardison says firmly, “What? Just because I didn’t want to be fucked dry against a wall when you suddenly decided on it? Because maybe I wanted to exchange a few words with you first? Maybe kiss you? You didn’t even look at me, man!”

Eliot at least has the decency to look somewhat guilty as he takes in what Hardison is saying. 

“You stopped and I stopped,” Eliot says, as if that’s some sort of explanation. 

“Yeah, of course you did,” Hardison says easily, “I was never scared you wouldn’t, Eliot, that’s not the point. But maybe I want more than just a quick fuck. That’s the part that you don’t seem to get.” 

There’s an emotion making its way over Eliot’s face that Hardison can’t quite catch, but before he can start analysing it, Eliot’s face closes off again and Hardison sighs. Talking to Eliot is like pulling teeth, but this seems to be a now or never kind of moment, so Hardison decides to just lay it all out on the line. 

“A quickie, a little bit rough,” he says, swallowing hard as he twists his fingers together, “I’m definitely not against that. But when it comes to you - ”

“You don’t want it,” Eliot concludes, straightening up in his seat. 

“I want more,” Hardison says, embarrassingly truthful, but clearly he needs to spell it out for Eliot. “I want kisses and smiles and shared looks and inside jokes. I want intimacy, not only sex. I want… more.” 

There’s a silence that falls over them and Hardison wonders if he just made the biggest mistake of his life, if he’s gone and broken the fragile friendship that Eliot already cracked earlier that week. But deep down he knows this is the only way. 

“I don’t do more,” Eliot says, sounding apologetic and pained as he gets up off the couch slowly. 

Hardison watches him walk over to the door as the lump in his stomach expands to his throat. He can feel his heart beating in his ears and all he wants to do is reach out and touch Eliot. 

“Then why was that your reaction to me almost dying, man?” Hardison asks, because he suspects that Eliot is full of bullshit right now. 

It doesn’t make it hurt any less when Eliot closes the door behind him though. 

***

Figuring out what goes on inside of Eliot’s head is damn near impossible and Hardison is not afraid to admit it frustrates the hell out of him. There’s no shame in it though, it’s the way Eliot is designed to be. But as much as Eliot tries to pretend he’s made of steel, that he’s infallible, impenetrable, unbreakable, Hardison refuses to believe that it’s the whole truth. He’s seen glimpses, he’s peeked beyond Eliot’s defenses before, however briefly sometimes. He simply cannot believe that Eliot doesn’t care about anything, about him. But there’s still this nagging voice inside his head that says,  _ ‘I don’t do more.’ _ The voice is low and has a grain to it. To an outsider it might be absolutely indisputable that Eliot Spencer doesn’t do feelings or emotions. That Eliot Spencer doesn’t fall in love. 

Hardison swallows away the lump in his throat. Is that what he wants? For Eliot to fall in love with him? It’d be so easy to laugh it off and just move on. But if he is the one with his heart broken here, why is Eliot the one walking around sulking all the time? That is Hardison’s first clue. Hardison isn’t made of stone either. Hardison does want it all, and he wants it all with Eliot. 

Patience has never been one of his strongest suits, he knows this. He likes things to happen fast, to change quickly, to move and twist and stay interesting. But some things are worth waiting for, and Eliot might just be one of those things. 

In his lifetime, Hardison has taught himself a  _ lot _ of things. Maybe patience is the next thing he can teach himself? And it’s just the thing that’s on his mind when Hardison is trying to hack into the construction plans of a twenty-five story building and Eliot is hovering behind him, asking him why he hasn’t gotten in already. 

“ _ You _ wanna give this a try?” Hardison asks, throwing Eliot an annoyed look.

“This is your department,” Eliot answers gruffly, as if he’s even offended Hardison would suggest such a thing, “And frankly, I thought you were better at it.” 

“Bitch, please!” Hardison scoffs, glancing over at Eliot as his fingers continue to slide over the keys blindly, “Just for that I ought to make you wait until tomorrow.” 

“Except that we need to get the job done today, Hardison,” Eliot says pointedly. 

“Yeah, yeah…” Hardison says and he knows he’s about twenty seconds away from gaining access, but he deliberately takes a few detours. Maybe this can be a teachable moment. “Some things are worth waiting for, though,” he says, aiming for casual as he sneaks a peek at Eliot. 

Eliot just huffs, his eyes on Hardison’s screen.

“I’m trying to teach myself just that,” Hardison continues, innocently, “That not everyone moves at the same speed, and maybe some people need more time to get there…”

He can feel Eliot’s gaze on him, piercing, but Hardison doesn’t want to back down. 

“I can wait,” Hardison says, meeting Eliot’s eyes, and it’s clear that Eliot gets that Hardison isn’t talking about the hack job anymore. 

There’s a sudden sadness that passes over Eliot’s face - and it tugs at Hardison’s insides - before he looks away. 

“There’s nothing to wait for,” Eliot says, almost mournfully, and it’s exactly the kind of answer Hardison was expecting. 

He decides he’s done enough pushing for today and grants himself access to the plans Eliot has been waiting for. They do need to get this job done after all. 

Later, in the brewpub, Hardison starts to regret his strategy when Eliot makes it abundantly clear that he’s trying to prove to Hardison that there is nothing to wait for. Hardison knows it’s just a ploy to throw him off, but that doesn’t make it sting any less when Eliot wraps his hand around the back of the woman’s neck and leans in slowly, a flash of his tongue already visible as he closes his mouth over hers. 

Hardison blinks rapidly, swallows away a foul taste in his mouth as he tries to look away but fails miserably. Eliot’s other hand is rubbing over the woman’s hip now, tugging her close against himself and there is absolutely no mistaking where this is leading. Hardison watches as the kiss deepens, until Eliot’s hair falls in front of their lips as a curtain but it doesn’t help with the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’s seen enough. 

“Oh my,” Sophie says as she puts down a drink in front of Hardison - like she knows he needs it - but is looking at Eliot and his latest conquest as well. “He sure moves fast. Didn’t she walk in, like, ten minutes ago?” 

“Yeah…” Hardison says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice. He picks up the drink without even looking at what it is and downs it. It tastes kind of disgusting, but at least it washes away a bit of the jealousy for a second. 

“Hard to resist his charm, I suppose,” Sophie says poignantly and Hardison can feel her eyes on him. 

“God knows why,” Hardison says pettily as Eliot’s hands disappear just under the edge of the woman’s shirt, and Hardison tries not to think about how those fingers feel against skin, a bit rough and calloused, but still the right side of pleasant. 

“Love works in mysterious ways,” Sophie remarks. 

“That ain’t love,” Hardison says almost automatically, signaling to the bartender to bring him another one of whatever it was that Sophie felt he needed. 

“ _ That  _ isn’t, no,” Sophie says, an almost amused edge to her voice and it takes Hardison by surprise enough to tear his eyes away from where Eliot is sucking on a pale, smooth neck to look at her. 

Sophie’s lips are pressed together but there’s a smile tugging at the edge of her mouth and she raises an eyebrow at him before she slides elegantly off of her barstool and leaves him with a small pat on his shoulder. 

When Hardison looks back towards Eliot, he’s just in time to see that woman plastered against him as he leads her out the door and somewhere more private, no doubt.

Hardison’s second drink comes just in time, but it doesn’t wash away any sting this time. 

***

Hardison is not going to bring it up. He’s not. He’s not, because he knows that’s what Eliot was aiming for when he so shameless and blatantly seduced - and felt up - that woman in front of him. He was just baiting him, which is why Hardison is not going to bring it up. 

Except that Hardison has no filter and he wears his heart on his sleeve and so  _ of course _ he can’t help but bring it up the moment he is alone with Eliot. 

“So you must be pretty proud of yourself,” Hardison says, trying to keep his voice steady. 

Eliot snorts. “It’s not like it’s such a rare occasion, Hardison,” he says, a little bit mockingly. 

“Right,” Hardison nods, “And that little public display, that wasn’t at all for my benefit?” 

“I told you,” Eliot says. 

_ ‘I don’t do more.’  _

_ ‘There’s nothing to wait for.’  _

Yeah, Eliot told him alright. 

“You’re full of shit,” Hardison replies, because it’s easier than saying anything else. “I’ve seen you kiss girls. So don’t even pretend - ”

“Girls are different,” Eliot says with a shrug. 

“If this is some sexist bullshit you’re - ” Hardison starts. 

“You don’t get a whole lot further with girls if you don’t kiss,” Eliot interrupts. 

“Oh, so it  _ is _ sexist bullshit,” Hardison rolls his eyes, “So what? It’s just a sacrifice the big bad Eliot Spencer makes to be able to get his rocks off? You’ll kiss a woman but only because it means she’ll let you go all the way?” 

“I told you,” Eliot sighs, put upon, “You don’t get anywhere wi- ”

“You didn’t get anywhere with me,” Hardison cuts him off, his voice a challenge and it’s sufficient to shut Eliot up for a second. 

He does that thing with his eyes where he doesn’t blink all the way as he clenches his jaw. Hardison thinks he can see a muscle twitch in the side of Eliot’s neck. 

“Maybe I didn’t want it that badly,” Eliot says and Hardison would be more hurt by that if he didn’t realize it was a load of crap. 

“Sure as hell didn’t look like it,” Hardison challenges, “You wanna know what it looked like to me?” And before Eliot can respond, Hardison goes on, “It looked like I came  _ this _ close to that bullet splashing my brain all over the floor and you realized it.” Another not-complete blink on Eliot’s face. “And it scared you, because as much as you want to play the tough guy I know that you care. It scared you so much that you needed to know I was still there. You needed to get your hands on me, to feel that I was still alive and breathing underneath you. Maybe you didn’t want the  _ sex _ so badly, no. But you wanted  _ me _ . And all the mindless fucking around with girls you pick up in bars isn’t going to change that. And while it’s definitely not fun for me to see, it isn’t going to push me away either.” 

“Hardison…” Eliot’s voice is a warning, low and gritty, and Hardison knows he’s pushing it far and he isn’t quite sure where the edge is. But he’s not afraid of Eliot. 

“Don’t you ever want intimacy, man?” Hardison asks, because he genuinely wonders how anyone can live, always keeping people at bay, never opening up completely, never letting yourself be vulnerable. 

But maybe that’s exactly the thing, isn’t it? Maybe Eliot does want all of these things, but he just thinks that simply isn’t an option for him? That he doesn’t get to have it, or that he doesn’t know how to. 

“Maybe if you allowed yourself certain things…” Hardison says, his voice a lot more gentle all of a sudden, “If you were just honest with yourself. Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world as you know it?”

Eliot doesn’t answer and Hardison doesn’t expect him to. But he can see the wheels spinning inside Eliot’s head and he can hear his breath come out a bit shaky, and Hardison is pretty sure the edge is nearing, so he stops pushing. 

***

Hardison can still hear the punches collide with Eliot’s body as he helps him into the bedroom. He’s got one arm underneath Eliot’s shoulder, Nate supporting him on the other side and as they lower him on the bed Eliot lets out a little grunt that has Hardison flashing back to pained growls he heard slip past Eliot’s lips as his assailants were pounding in on him. A beating that was vicious and merciless, and meant for Hardison. 

“Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital?” Sophie asks as Nate and Hardison carefully position Eliot on the covers. 

“No,” Eliot says, gravelly, shoving away Nate’s hand the second he’s down. 

Hardison tucks the pillow underneath his head just right and he’s grateful he isn’t being pushed away yet. 

“You could have internal bleeding,” Sophie reasons, but Eliot just gives her an angry stare. 

“We could go steal some medical equipment,” Parker says, looking hopeful at Nate. “Maybe kidnap a doctor?” 

“I’m fine,” Eliot says and he’s already sounding more annoyed than in pain, which Hardison counts as a positive thing. Not that he wouldn’t feel safer with Eliot in the hospital though. 

“We trust you to tell us the truth,” Nate says, fixing Eliot with a serious look, “That you will let us know if anything feels more serious than what you’re used to.” 

The fact that Eliot is used to this kind of violence makes Hardison’s stomach churn. It’s always been slightly easier to digest when Eliot ends up on top, which is pretty much all the time. He shrugs off any injury, can take on a whole hoard of attackers - whether they’re armed or not - and is hardly even out of breath afterwards. 

Today though, today was a little bit different. Hardison was the one that was caught and Hardison was the one that found himself cornered and awaiting a severe thrashing. Yet he wasn’t surprised when Eliot swooped in, all but pushed Hardison to safety and took on seven assailants on his own. Something that probably wouldn’t even phase him on a normal day, but one had a taser, and one got in a good swing with a lead pipe which caused Eliot to do down where he was at a clear disadvantage to defend himself against the battering that came next. 

“I  _ might _ be a bit sore in the morning,” Eliot says, like it pains him gravely to admit - more than the beating did, “But I’m okay.” 

Nate nods, like that’s good enough for him. 

“You’re not staying alone though,” Nate says, and despite Eliot rolling his eyes he’s not arguing. Sophie comes back in with a first aid kit, which Hardison takes off her hands instantly. 

“I’m staying,” Hardison says, and he fully expects Eliot to object, but to Hardison’s surprise he stays quiet. Maybe he got knocked in the head just a little bit harder than any of them thought? 

Nate and Sophie file out of the bedroom soon enough after that. Parker follows right after she leans over Eliot and gives him an awkwardly angled hug. Eliot doesn’t protest. Soon Hardison is the only one left with Eliot. 

Eliot sighs and closes his eyes for a second. There is a cut above his eyebrow and his cheekbone is already darkening. His knuckles are red and open in places, dried blood caked on them. Hardison settles down on the bed beside Eliot, one knee underneath him as he spreads out the first aid kit in front of him. He takes one of Eliot’s hands and positions it on his thigh as he takes out some sterile wipes and puts disinfectant on them. He dabs it carefully on Eliot’s knuckles, keeping his eye on the task at hand. Eliot lets him. 

There are a few minutes of silence as Hardison switches to Eliot’s other hand, giving it the same careful treatment. Eliot’s palm is warm over Hardison’s fingers and Hardison swallows away a quiet longing in his chest as he realizes that this might be the first gentle touch Eliot accepts from him without a struggle. 

Hardison takes out a clean wipe that he prepares as he moves a little bit higher up on the bed, so that he can more easily reach Eliot’s head. Eliot is looking up at him without argument in his eyes and Hardison thinks he can hear his heart’s pounding fill the room. He brushes away some strands of Eliot’s hair, letting them fall onto the pillow, before gingerly swiping the sterile wipe over the cut above Eliot’s eye. It doesn’t seem to be too deep, Hardison is relieved to notice, because he sure as hell isn’t going to look up how to do home-made stitches. 

“That was meant for me, man,” Hardison says softly, carefully rubbing away some dried blood on Eliot’s forehead. 

“I’m the hitter,” Eliot answers, like it’s a given. 

“So that means you just take every hit that is intended for any of us?” Hardison asks, brushing his fingertips over Eliot’s temple in a manner that may not be strictly necessary for the cleaning of his wounds. Hardison meticulously places butterfly stitches over the wound. 

“That’s exactly what it means,” Eliot says, shifting his arm a little bit and the back of his hand comes to touch Hardison’s leg slightly. 

“I thought they were gonna kill you,” Hardison says, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as the image of Eliot on the floor - fists and a lead pipe striking him over and over again - flashes before them. 

He opens them again when he feels Eliot shift on the bed, pushing himself in an upright position so he’s sitting more or less face to face with Hardison. 

“I’m not going down that easily,” Eliot says, the beginning of a smile hovering over his lips. 

“You’re not invincible,” Hardison argues, but it comes out more sad than angry. 

“I’m sorry,” Eliot says, his voice barely a whisper. 

“What are you - ?” Hardison shakes his head. Somehow his hand has found its way into the fabric of Eliot’s pants, gripping tightly. “I’m the one that’s sorry. It’s my fault you’re hurt.” 

Eliot’s hand comes up to cup Hardison’s jawline as his eyebrows come together in a frown and he shakes his head determined. The touch makes Hardison’s breath still in his throat, as he can feel each one of Eliot’s fingers like a burn on his skin. If Hardison still had the ability to think, maybe he’d talk himself out of what he’s about to do, but his instinct tells him that Eliot’s touch is an invitation and so Hardison finds himself leaning in, eyes closing automatically when he can feel the tingle of Eliot’s breath on his lips. 

The last inch is closed by Eliot and then Eliot’s lips are brushing against his, featherlight, and Hardison can feel himself start to tremble slightly. Eliot’s fingers are still on his cheek, tips pressing in every so lightly, as his lips find purchase against Hardison’s. 

Hardison’s fist loosens on Eliot’s pants, instead flattening on top of Eliot’s leg, trying to ground himself. The kiss is gentle, almost too much so, because it’s everything he ever hoped for from Eliot but never actually expected. It makes Hardison doubt his current reality for a moment, but he is tethered back as Eliot parts his lips slightly, and their tongues brush up against each other for a second and Hardison discovers his new favorite taste.  _ Eliot _ . 

Eliot’s thumb strokes over Hardison’s cheek and there’s a soft moaning sound that hits Hardison’s ear. It takes him a second to realize that it’s  _ him  _ but he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed, not when Eliot continues pressing soft kisses against his lips. 

Hardison shifts a little on the bed, scooting closer to Eliot and losing his balance in the process bit. His hand shoots up to Eliot’s chest to steady himself but Eliot’s mouth pulls away from him with a sharp hiss. 

“Shit,” Hardison says, pulling his hand back like it was burned. “Are you okay?” He asks, a bit dazed. He can still feel the ghost of Eliot’s lips on his. 

“Yeah,” Eliot says, pushing his hands down on the mattress to reposition himself a little bit. It’s clear that he’s trying to hide discomfort. 

“Dude, did you break your ribs?” Hardison asks, like he can’t believe Eliot would hide something like that from him. 

“No,” Eliot says, firmly, “Just…”

Hardison sighs, careful to keep his hands to himself because the last thing he wants to do is hurt Eliot. There’s a new wave of guilt that washes over him as he remembers that Eliot took the beating that was meant for Hardison. 

“They’re just bruised, Hardison,” Eliot says, meeting his eyes.

“Right, that’s it,” Hardison says, fluffing up the pillow that’s behind Eliot, “You’re on bed rest.” 

“Hardison…” Eliot sighs, but his voice is soft and complacent. 

“ _ And _ I’m getting you some painkillers,” Hardison says, getting up on his feet. 

“I don’t need - ” Eliot starts, but Hardison cuts him off quickly, “Then you’ll humor me.” 

Eliot rolls his eyes but starts carefully scooting down the bed again until he’s lying down. 

Hardison makes his way to the bathroom to hunt for painkillers - Eliot has the good stuff, which leads Hardison to believe that he self-cares more often than he gets patched up by a doctor - and picks up a bottle of water in the kitchen and his own laptop in the living room before entering the bedroom again. Eliot has kicked off his shoes and is flat on his back like a good patient. It’s not like Hardison expected him to have fled out the window or something but, yeah, maybe that’s exactly what he expected though. 

“Two of these,” Hardison says with a smile as he hands Eliot the pills and the bottle of water. 

“I forget, when did you get your medical degree?” Eliot huffs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face and he takes the offered items and swallows down the pills and the rest of the water. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Hardison asks as he puts down the empty bottle next to the bed. 

“I’m good,” Eliot says with a shake of his head. 

“Do you want to put on something more comfortable?” Hardison nods towards Eliot’s clothes. 

“You wanna get me out of these clothes, Hardison?” Eliot asks with a sly grin. 

“Man, there’s blood on them,” Hardison deadpans, because as much as he’s been thinking about a naked Eliot in bed, this really isn’t the time for it. 

“It’s fine,” Eliot mumbles, his eyes closing a little bit longer each time he blinks. The painkillers will probably start taking full effect soon. 

“Weirdo,” Hardison says with a smile, putting the laptop down by his feet as he carefully sits down on the bed, leaning against the headboard. But he doesn’t insist. Because as much as he’d like to get Eliot a bit more comfortable in clean clothes, it’s probably more important that he rest now. Sadly Hardison doesn’t think it’s the first time Eliot will sleep in bloody clothes. “You just rest,” Hardison says as he flips open the laptop and opens a streaming site. He doesn’t use the word ‘sleep’ because somehow he thinks Eliot might protest, but much to his surprise, Eliot curls to his side a little bit, resting his head against Hardison’s hipbone. 

Hardison swallows, hard. He looks down to see Eliot’s hair has fallen into his face, but he can make out between the strands that his eyes are closed and his lips slightly parted. His hand has come up to rest against Hardison’s thigh and his head is cradled nicely into Hardison’s side. 

Hardison’s hand hovers in the air for a second, before he gently cups it over Eliot’s shoulder. He can feel Eliot’s breathing even out and he’s pretty sure Eliot is out like a light in a matter of seconds. He barely turns the volume up on his laptop though, not wanting to disturb Eliot. 

“‘Night, babe,” he whispers, caressing his thumb over Eliot’s shoulder. 

A soft snore is his only response. 

***

It takes Eliot a few days to get back into fighting shape, though as far as Hardison’s concerned, there will be some holding off on the actual fighting if he has any say about it. Since Hardison is also insisting that Eliot take some more painkillers during these days, he hasn’t made any moves to kiss Eliot again. When Eliot’s brain is slightly muddled by drugs, it really doesn’t feel right to con his way past those defenses. 

Eliot hasn’t made any new moves either, but he hasn’t been arguing with Hardison or pushing him away. Hardison takes that as a good sign. Still, he can’t help but feel a bit nervous. He keeps replaying the kiss in his head, remembering the taste of Eliot, the smell of him, the softness that he didn’t know existed in Eliot and now can’t get out of his mind. 

He keeps thinking about how Eliot slept through the night curled against him, leaving himself vulnerable and open. 

When Hardison comes home to his apartment above the brewpub a few evenings later to find Eliot in the kitchen, Parker sitting cross-legged on the counter - with her shoes on - and Nate and Sophie with glasses of wine on the couch, he really shouldn’t be surprised. 

“No, really,” Hardison says sarcastically, closing the door behind him and pulling the messenger bag over his shoulder, “Mi casa es su casa and all that shit.” 

“Exactly,” Parker says with a beaming smile, throwing an egg up in the air and catching it again with flawless precision. 

“ _ Shoes _ , woman!” Hardison says with a frown, gesturing towards her. 

“See!” Eliot says pointedly from where he’s stirring a wooden spoon into a pan on the fire, so Hardison is clearly not the first one to make the remark. 

Parker reluctantly slides her legs out from under her and lets them hang off the counter. She continues playing with the egg. 

“So what’s going on here?” Hardison asks, looking over from the kitchen area to the couch. 

“Eliot is cooking dinner,” Sophie smiles, raising her glass of wine at Hardison as if to salute him. 

“To celebrate him being back on his feet or something,” Parker shrugs, smiling over at Eliot. 

“That’s nice,” Hardison says, even though he doesn’t quite understand why these celebrations are being held at his place, or why he didn’t get proper notice of them. He eyes Sophie and Nate’s glasses of wine. “You know I brew beer, right?” Hardison asks them, quirking his eyebrow, “And yet you’re always with the wine!” 

“Beer doesn’t go with Carbonara,” Nate says, bringing his glass up to his lips, “Eliot said.” 

“Oops,” he hears Parker say behind him, and when he looks over he can see the egg cracked open over the floor. 

“Out of my kitchen,” Eliot grumbles as he bends down to clean up the mess and Parker rushes past Hardison to join Nate and Sophie. Hardison doesn’t comment on the fact that it’s technically  _ his _ kitchen. 

Hardison crouches down opposite Eliot who is wiping up the spilled egg with a paper towel and gives him a look. Eliot’s eyes flicker over to where the others are sitting, but they’re blocked from view by the kitchen island. 

“They’re always at the damn pub, Hardison,” Eliot whispers, scowling, “They saw me come in with all the stuff to make you dinner and assumed - ”

“Hey, that’s  _ my _ pub you’re talking ab - ” Hardison starts in a low murmur, before he realizes, “Wait? Make  _ me _ dinner?” 

“Yeah,” Eliot says and Hardison thinks he can spy the beginning of a faint blush on Eliot’s cheeks, “Just you and me. I wanted to thank you for taking care of me, and…” 

The ‘ _ and _ ’ hangs in the air and Hardison’s brain floods with the possibilities of what it could mean. 

“I can’t get rid of them,” Eliot mutters and he looks so miserable it really shouldn’t be so amusing to Hardison. 

“They have to leave eventually,” Hardison says with an encouraging smile. 

“Not until I feed them,” Eliot grumbles, crushing the cracked eggshell in the paper towel in his hands. 

“Better get back to cooking then,” Hardison says, his chest brimming with affection for what Eliot was trying to do here tonight, “The sooner they’re fed, the sooner they get the hell out of here and we’re alone.” The implication of it hits Hardison’s ears and he’s pretty sure now he’s the one blushing. “I mean…” 

“Yeah,” Eliot says, with a soft reassuring smile. “Yeah.” 

***

Hardison is still fake laughing at whatever it is Sophie says as he closes the door of the apartment with a click. The sound stops the second Sophie is out of sight and he turns around and leans back against the door, relieved. 

“That’s the last of them,” Hardison says with a sigh. 

“ _ ‘No, no, Eliot will help with the dishes’ _ ?” Eliot parrots Hardison’s words from a few minutes ago, throwing him a look. “As if I didn’t just do all the cooking?” 

“Man, you can throw the dishes in the trash for all I care,” Hardison calls out, “I just needed to get them out of here, you understand what I’m saying?” He wiggles his eyebrows at Eliot, and gets a grin in return. 

The entire dinner was torture. Obviously Eliot’s Spaghetti à la Carbonara was to die for - and yes, the wine paired perfectly with it - but all Hardison wanted was to be alone with him, and from the looks that Eliot kept giving him, so did he. Which helps ease some of the nerves that Hardison has. 

“What are you doing?” Hardison asks as he sees Eliot start to run some water into the sink. “I wasn’t kidding with the trash, Eliot,” he says firmly, “Burn down the whole kitchen if you have to, I’ll buy a new one. You are not starting house chores now.” 

Eliot turns off the tab with a smirk. Hardison suspects maybe Eliot enjoys getting him all riled up. 

“Also, I have a dishwasher,” Hardison says as an afterthought. 

“So no chores?” Eliot raises an eyebrow, and yeah, he’s clearly baiting him. Hardison kind of likes it. 

“Not if… you know,” Hardison says, inching a little bit closer to Eliot. “If I’m reading this right?” 

“I thought about what you said,” Eliot says and Hardison can tell he’s going to try and talk about his feelings simply by the way he’s getting a little bit flustered and uncomfortable again. Teasing and just grabbing Hardison would be the easier move - and Hardison would definitely go for it - but he appreciates Eliot trying his best to grow. It means a lot to Hardison. 

“Okay,” Hardison says carefully. 

“And you may not have been entirely… wrong,” Eliot continues, shrugging his shoulder a bit. 

“It’s surprising how often that happens,” Hardison tries to put Eliot at ease with a smile. 

“Not as often as you think,” Eliot jokes softly. “But… yeah. There’s every chance I’m going to fuck this up. I mean, I’m not… I don’t know. I might not be what you’re looking for.” 

“I just want you to be you,” Hardison says, slowly moving forward until he’s within touching distance of Eliot. “And, you know, to be… us.” 

Eliot swallows as he nods and reaches out his hand to pull Hardison closer. The touch isn’t rough though, it’s even a little bit hesitant, but Hardison goes with it quickly, until he can feel Eliot’s mouth on his and the knot in his stomach completely unfurls. 

Eliot’s lips feel exactly as he remembers and he can’t ever imagine getting tired of them. Hardison wraps his arms around Eliot’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he opens up his mouth to let Eliot’s tongue explore it hungrily. There’s a content hum that escapes Eliot’s mouth and Hardison can feel it vibrate into his own body. He tightens his arms around Eliot, pressing his chest against Eliot’s in a desperate need to create as much contact as possible. The kiss becomes deeper, more frantic, and Eliot’s hands roam freely over Hardison’s back, yet they make no move to go lower, or to slip under Hardison’s shirt. 

When Hardison presses his thigh up between Eliot’s legs, there's definite proof that he’s interested in more though and it elicits a deep groan from Hardison’s throat. He can feel Eliot’s fingers tighten around the back of his neck and Eliot inhales sharply as he breaks the kiss, only to latch onto the skin of Hardison’s neck, sucking, biting, licking. Hardison can feel the outline of Eliot’s hard dick against his own and he can’t help but rut against it. 

“Fuck, Eliot,” Hardison breathes, but then Eliot covers his mouth again with his. 

Hardison’s hand finds its way into Eliot’s hair, and if the squirm of Eliot’s body is anything to go by as he tightens his fingers in the strands, Eliot definitely likes it. There is so much yet to explore, so much to learn, it makes Hardison a little bit dizzy. He pulls away from the kiss for a second, just so he can look at Eliot’s face. Eliot’s lips are parted and swollen and shiny with spit. His eyes are dazed as he blinks at Hardison. He seems wrecked already and Hardison can’t help but feel proud. He did that. 

“We don’t have to…” Eliot swallows, licks his lips as he catches his breath, “You know.”

There’s a tiny bit of doubt that Hardison didn’t even realize he had left that dissipates as he takes in what this means. Eliot is kissing him, is making out with him and showing affection, yet he’s not necessarily looking for the reward of sex. It isn’t a means to an end. 

“Do you want to?” Hardison asks, punctuating the question with a quick kiss. 

“Yeah, of course,” Eliot says, bringing up his hand to cup Hardison’s face. “But we don’t  _ have _ to.” 

“Eliot, man…” Hardison shakes his head, a soft smile blossoming on his face. “I’m counting on at least two orgasms.  _ Each _ .” 

Eliot barks out a laugh. “No pressure.” 

“I’ve never known you to back down from a challenge,” Hardison grins widely. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be the romantic?” Eliot asks, looping his arm around Hardison’s waist and pulling him tightly. 

“And here I was thinking you didn’t know the meaning of the word,” Hardison quips, scratching his fingernails slightly through the strands of Eliot’s hair. Eliot’s eyes close automatically for a second. 

“I’ll show you,” Eliot then grumbles, and before Hardison knows what’s happening, Eliot is swinging him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry with surprising ease - and a yelp from Hardison’s mouth - and carrying him off in the direction of the bedroom. 

“And so my evil plan pays off,” Hardison muses out loud as Eliot drops him unceremoniously on the bed. 

“Shut up, Hardison,” Eliot mutters with a grin, and plasters himself on top of Hardison, arms bracing either side of Hardison’s head. 

“Make me,” Hardison beams, and then Eliot’s mouth is pressed up right where it belongs. Against Hardison’s. 

***

_ Fin _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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